Should Have Kissed You There
by Landing In London
Summary: Dean and Castiel have an interlude. One-shot.


Sad sappy Destiel fic. Sorry, I had to.

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><p>Crash!<p>

_Dean bolted upright as if he had been electrocuted. The unmistakeable thumping of his own heart echoed in his ears, and his fingers instinctively closed around the hunting knife hidden under his pillow. The room was dark, and the hunter's skin prickled as he tried to force his eyes to adjust. _

_"Who's there?"_

_"Dean," a small, pathetic voice croaked. "Help me." Dean squinted at the lightless corner where the sound had come from. A few seconds of labored breathing passed before he could make out a crumpled form, covered by a bloody trenchcoat. _

_"Damn it." Dean threw the covers off himself and rushed to Cas' side. The angel's face was cut and bruised, his shirt was torn, and his eyes were rolling back in his head as if he were fighting with all his might to stay conscious. With a heavy-hearted sigh, Dean hoisted his friend up and walked him over to the bed. _

_"What the hell happened to you?" Dean demanded as his fingers worked to undo Castiel's tie. _

_"Battle..." Cas managed to sputter around a mouthful of blood. "Lost...needed...safety."_

_"Ah shit." The tie came loose and with it the top of Castiel's tattered shirt. Dean looked at his friend's exposed chest and saw dark bruises forming beneath the surface. _

_"Ah _shit_! Cas why aren't you healing yourself?" _

_He didn't answer; it was fairly obvious that he couldn't. The only answers Dean could glean about his friend's condition was that it was bad, and Cas was in pain. His hand automatically reached out to grab the bottle sitting on his nightstand._

_"Here buddy, drink this. It will help." Dean tipped the bottle back against Castiel's lips. There was the expected choking and coughing as the whiskey burned its first path down his virgin throat, but soon he accepted it as a healing elixir. _

_"There you go." It wasn't long before Castiel's breathing slowed to a more natural pace._

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><p><em>"What's going on?" Castiel came back to reality with a sharp pain stabbing at his forehead. Dean was standing over him, dabbing a cloth at the wounds on his face.<em>

_"Stop squirming, I'm gonna get alcohol in your eye." _

_"What happened?"_

_"You gave me a real scare, Assbutt." Dean gingerly pulled what looked like a glass fragment out of a gash on Cas' temple. _

_Cas awkwardly looked down at his impromptu nurse. "You aren't wearing any clothes."_

_"Boxers count as clothes," Dean corrected. "Excuse me for not dressing for the occassion, you dropped in on me a little suddenly."_

_"Did I...?" Castiel let out a little whimper and fell forward. Dean wrapped his arms around the broken angel to keep him from sliding off the bed._

_"Easy big fella," he whispered into Cas' hair. "You're a little drunk and you took a real beat down." _

_Cas murmured and pressed his face against Dean's chest. "You are delightfully warm."_

_"Uhm..ok," Dean shifted awkwardly to put Cas upright without breaking their hug. "Maybe more than a little drunk."_

_"I'm not winning Dean. My friends are dying. This war...was a bad idea."_

_Dean was acutely aware of Castiel's breath against his chest as he spoke. Maybe he was a little drunk too. _

_"You'll find a way to turn it around."_

_"No!" Castiel shook his head violently and pulled away from Dean. "I won't! I can't! Don't you see? I'm going to lose." Suddenly Cas was looking at his friend like a lonely little boy. "I don't want to go back to Heaven, Dean. Can't I stay here with you?"_

_"W-with me?" Dean stammared. He was about to protest, but the look Castiel was given him tugged at his heart. "Yeah. Yeah Cas you can stay with me as long as you want."_

_Castiel dropped his forehead into the nape of Dean's neck, and for awhile the two just sat there, outside the eyes of judgement and the lord. _

To Dean it would always be a memory of what didn't happen, as he sat half naked with his friend wrapped around him. How their lips never touched, how he never told him how beautiful he looked, even then, as a battered, limp mess. Dean spent the night breathing in the smell of the man beside him, but nothing more. And now, alone in his room, that same smell came to him from the trenchcoat folded up and resting beneath his cheek. Cas was gone, and while he could remember the things that almost happened, he also had to remember that now, they never would.


End file.
